


Dead Woods

by roryheadmav



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, M/M, X-men - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-31
Updated: 2009-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-04 14:06:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roryheadmav/pseuds/roryheadmav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based loosely on the classic fairy tale "Little Red Riding Hood". In this historical horror fic, Remy LeBeau goes to a Creole colony on an errand of mercy, unaware of the terrors awaiting him in the woods. Could Logan save him in time? A response fic to the Halloween Challenge posted on the Logan_Remy Yahoo Group.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

**CHAPTER ONE**

 

Remy LeBeau fidgeted nervously before the door of his father's study. He truly hoped that there was nothing wrong this time, especially with his handfasting to the X Guild leader's trusted adviser only a week away.

There had been strong opposition among the Elders of the Thieves Guild, who were clamoring more for the unification with the Assassins Guild. But Jean-Luc LeBeau – Patriarch of the Thieves Guild – put his foot down and stated firmly that a union with the X Guild instead would be in their best interest. Of course, there was the unspoken confession that he did not have the heart to persuade his youngest son to enter into an arranged marriage. Anyone with discerning eyes and understanding hearts can see how much Remy loved his fiancé.

So, what could be the problem now?

Remy sighed. He won't get any answers fretting like this. Rapping three times on the door, he announced, "Pere? It is I...Remy. You summoned me?"

"Oui, Remy," his father answered from inside. "Come in."

Pushing down the door latch, Remy entered the study, expecting to find his father seated at his desk. Instead, Jean-Luc sat in his favorite plush armchair, enjoying a noontime blaze in the fireplace. Remy took that as a good sign. Smiling, he approached his father and curled up on the floor at the older man's feet. He laid his head on Jean-Luc's lap, purring in bliss, as strong but gentle fingers combed through his silken auburn tresses.

"Are ya happy, mon fils?" Jean-Luc asked, beaming down at his adopted son who had brought him so much joy.

"More dan you know, Papa," Remy confessed. "Oh, why can't time fly any faster? I can't wait to be with mon coeur at last."

"Still the impatient one, I see. I'm surprised dat your amour has not taken advantage o' your hot-bloodedness."

"De man is the epitome o' patience. I don' know how he does it. Perhaps because he is much older dan me an' dat he still holds rather old-fashioned beliefs. He told me dat he would honor my virtue 'til de day dat we are joined as one. Romantic, oui? Still, you cannot blame a lusty young man for tryin', eh?"

"You should stop bedevilin' de poor fellow! Even saints have limits to their patience."

There was a mischievous twinkle in Remy's eye. "I _had_ been countin' on pushin' him over his limits, mais mon couer is a rock!"

Jean-Luc breathed out a sigh. "Ah, mon fils! You don' know how relieved your Pere is dat you've found someone to love. I had hoped that it would be a woman. I never expected that you would fall in love with _him_, of all people." He laughed at the warning glow in his son's red on black eyes. "Mais, I can see dat he has been a calming influence on you in spite of his gruff and temperamental mien. I've never seen you dis happy an' at peace."

"I _am_ at peace, Papa," Remy revealed, caressing the old sword injury on his father's calf, which Jean-Luc had sustained while saving him from that vile slave trader, The Antiquary. "More so, when it is only he and I who are together. He completes me, Papa, and I have never felt safer. He...he has even scared away my nightmares."

Jean-Luc brushed away an auburn lock that had fallen over his son's brow. Ever since Remy came to live with him, he had known the boy to suffer from terrible nightmares of pain and death. Some of them were about his erstwhile captor. But many of these disturbing dreams were about a bygone time, and judging from Remy's frantic cries and thrashings in his sleep, they were much too detailed and vivid for Jean-Luc to attribute them to the boy's fertile imagination. He suspected that they were memories of a past life. However, every time he tried to talk to his son about his dreams, Remy would just stare blankly at him, shake his head, and say that he couldn't remember. And yet there were shadows of fear in those red on black eyes. That was why Jean-Luc held profound gratitude in his heart for Remy's lover, who had patiently dispelled the nightmare visions that had haunted his son since childhood.

Noticing the thoughtful expression on his father's face, Remy straightened up to gaze into Jean-Luc's eyes. "Mais, enough about me. Why are ya broodin' in de middle of a fine autumn day. Is dere a problem?"

"Non, it's not what you're thinkin'. I am pleased to inform you that everyone has finally accepted your coming handfasting." A moment's reluctance. "It's about Tante Mattie."

Remy's heart gave a fearful lurch at the name of the kind voodoo mambo who had taken care of him ever since he was a child. Mattie Baptiste had been the mother he never had.

"Tante? What about Tante? Didn't she go to de Creole colony in de heart o' de bayou to deliver some medical supplies? Please tell me she's all right. It is my dearest wish dat she be de one to preside over de handfastin' ceremony. She is comin', oui?"

"Mattie swore she'll be here. I just received a letter from her by carrier pigeon sayin' dat she would not miss it for de world. Mais, it seems dat a strange malady has fallen upon de villagers. She did not give any further explanations as to what this illness is. She is askin', however, dat more medicines be brought to de colony. Your Tante specifically requests for your aid, since she had instructed you well in de healing arts."

"Is dat all?" Remy asked, relieved that it was not the serious matter he had thought it was. "Let me get my healer's kit and de herbs in Tante's surgery. I'll be goin' dere at once."

"Are you sure, mon fils?" Jean-Luc asked worriedly. "It is against my better judgment to send ya off when de ceremony is only a few days away. You should be preparin' for it."

"It's all right, Papa. Between Tante and I, we'll have de sick villagers up an' about in no time, and we'll be home for de ceremony before ya know it." Remy giggled as a sudden thought crossed his mind. "Besides, dere is no way dat I will stay there too long. I can't have mon couer thinkin' dat I eloped with someone else. He's sure to run amuck."

Jean-Luc too laughed at the amusing image. "You're right. We can't have dat happenin'. Go on den, mon fils, while dere's still light. De sooner ya get to de Creole colony de better. Today is All Hallow's Eve. De spirits...dey be mighty active tonight, especially at de witchin' hour."

"Oh, Papa, you worry too much! Dem spirits won't bother you if you don' disturb 'em. Tante taught me dat."

"Just...just promise your Pere dat you an' your Tante will return home quickly."

Remy took his father's hands in his warm grasp and kissed the fingertips. "Oui, Papa. I promise."

 

 

That very afternoon, after bidding goodbye to his father, Remy set off for the village deep within the woods. Hanging from the crook of his right arm was a wicker basket, containing his healer's kit, an assortment of herbs, and some warm food. Swinging from his belt at his left hip was a small lantern. He marched determinedly into the forest, only to find himself pausing briefly a few minutes later to look back. Remy was startled to see that he could no longer catch even a glimpse of the stone walls of the Thieves Guild's keep through the dense foliage. It was as if the forest had swallowed him whole.

"Mon dieu! Dese woods seem to be a lot darker dan last I remembered." Remy shivered, rubbing his arms briskly. "Oui, an' colder too."

Nevertheless, concern for the villagers and his Tante compelled him to trudge onwards, ignoring his growing unease. It did not help any that an eerie silence seemed to have enveloped the forest. Not a single bird chirped in the trees. No humming or buzzing of insects. No animals rustling in the brush. Just deafening silence...

** _CRACK!_ **

Remy jumped at that sharp sound. Whirling, he noticed some movement in the shadows beyond. There were violent sounds of leaves rustling. Sure enough, the thick bushes began to shake as if someone...or some_thing_...was forcing its way through.

With trembling fingers, Remy reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a card, and charged it, casting an unearthly pink glow upon his surroundings. He lifted his hand, ready to throw the card at whatever it was that was heading straight for him. Already he could hear heavy footsteps breaking sticks and twigs on the ground. And there were louder sounds of chopping...no, _slashing_ wood.

Then, a small but heavy-set figure stumbled through the brambles, cursing loudly as the hairy skin on one brawny arm was scratched by a tree branch. Heaving a relieved sigh, Remy let the card burn down to ashes, dropped the basket, and threw himself into his lover's arms, wrapping his long legs around the other's trim waist.

"Logan, mon couer!" Remy exclaimed in delight, giving the older man happy pecks on the lips. "I'm so happy to see ya! What are ya doin' here?" He giggled, tickled by the soft breaths on his neck followed by a lick of a warm, wet tongue. "Oh, excusez moi! I thought you were mon couer Logan, mais you're mon petit amour Wolverine. You wanna sniff my armpit, Wolvie? Or perhaps you wanna whiff o' my butt?"

As the Cajun wiggled his bottom enticingly, Logan stiffened at once, only then realizing that he had let his feral side get the better of him again, and judging from the wicked twinkle in Remy's lovely demon eyes, it was exactly what his young lover was counting on.

"Harrumph!" Logan cowed his grudging alter ego with a growl. Not looking at those eager red on black eyes, he set the Thieves Guild's prince down on a fallen log.

An exasperated grin curled up the corners of his lips though when Remy charmingly tilted his head sideways and inquired innocently, "Is dat you again, Logan? Merde! You should let Wolvie out more often."

"Don't encourage him, Gumbo, or you'll regret it." Up to now, Logan still could not believe his good fortune that this tall, vibrant young man could fall deeply in love with a cantankerous old runt like him.

Sitting down beside his fiancé, Logan explained, "I just came from the Thieves Guild. Your father told me that you were going to the Creole colony on an errand of mercy."

"Oui. Tante Matte sent a message to mon pere dat she needed my help in treatin' de sick villagers. Don' worry, cher. I'm sure it's nothin' dat Tante an' I couldn't handle."

"I wish I could be so sure about that."

Remy frowned, looking at his lover curiously. "Why do you say dat, mon couer?"

"It's just that we've been hearing some bizarre rumors about the woods." Logan scratched his sable mane, a clear sign that the older man was troubled.

"Rumors? Quoi?"

"Well, there's the usual yarn about people entering the forest and never coming back."

"Meres use dat story to keep de petites from wandering off. Nothin' strange about dat."

"But there are also stories of a few of the missing coming home days later. Family members said that those who returned claimed that...something...in the woods made them...well, feel good."

"What's so bad about dat?" Remy asked quizzically. "Tante once told me dat this land is teeming with loa. Especially since tonight is All Hallow's Eve, I'm very sure the spirits are roamin' freely. If de loa makes people happy, I don' see what's wrong."

"Remy..." Logan interrupted. "...Those who returned were more than just happy. They were...euphoric...in a sensual kind of way." Reluctantly, he added for further description, "...Almost sensually overactive."

Seeing the discomfort on the older man's face at that final revelation, the pieces of the puzzle clicked together inside the Cajun's mind. A wide grin cracked his handsome face as he declared, "Ohh! I get it! You mean dey're horny!"

Logan's face could not get any redder. "Well, I wouldn't describe it that way exactly, but..." There were no other descriptives. His lover had hit it right on the nose. "In any case, these men and women apparently could no longer be satisfied by anything else, and they are gripped by the strong desire to go back into the forest. Those who managed to return to the woods never came back out. As for those people who were prevented from doing so by their family and neighbors, they died from...emotional torment...days later."

"Emotional torment, eh? Ugly way to go," Remy lowered his head, brows drawn together in deep thought. His arms were crossed over his chest. "I think I know de feeling."

Logan gaped at his lover in disbelief. "Won't ya be serious, even for a second? Charles Xavier scanned the forest with his mind and he found absolutely nothing. A total blank. It's as if these woods have become one big dead zone. Even the feral inside me is practically howling that there's something wrong."

"So what would ya have me do den? Tante needs me. Dere are sick, maybe dying, people in de colony. I can't just go back home to de Guild, knowin' dat people need my help. Logan, I think ya know me better dan dat."

"I know you too well, that's why I'm worried. Gumbo..." He lapsed into his favorite nickname for the Cajun, taking Remy's hands and holding them tenderly. "I have a very bad feeling about this. Listen, if you're that concerned about the colony, we have flyers in the X Guild who can deliver the medicines for you."

"But what about Tante?"

"Our flyers can fetch her for the handfasting ceremony. If it would still be necessary for the both of you to return to the colony, then I shall accompany you. We shall take the necessary measures so that we wouldn't have to go through the woods. But not now, when we don't know what's going on. Please, darling."

Remy gave Logan's hands a gentle squeeze. "Je suis desole, cher. I'm afraid I must go dere now. Tante is countin' on me."

"If you're that determined, maybe I should go with you and..."

"Logan, I know dat Monsieur Xavier needs you at his side right now, to help him with de affairs of de X Guild while Scott and Jean are away. I will not keep ya from your duties. Besides, I'm no longer dat helpless little changeling whom you and Papa saved from de Antiquary. I'm a grown man now, an' both you an' Pere have taught me well in de fightin' arts." Remy kissed the tip of the older man's nose and pressed his forehead to that furrowed brow. "You should have a little more faith in me, oui?"

Logan heaved out a sigh of surrender. "All right, but you must promise me that you'll be careful."

"I promise, mon couer. Ya have my word on dat." The Cajun even raised his right hand in a solemn oath.

As Remy stood up, Logan suddenly said, "Wait. There's actually another reason why I came to see you." From inside his coat, he pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper and gave it to his lover. Curious and eager to find out what was inside, Remy tore up the wrapper and gasped in pleasant surprise.

"Mon cher, dis is beautiful!" Remy said breathlessly, letting his fingers run over the glossy red bear skin cloak. "Is dis really for me?"

"Yeah. Wolverine had a bit of a disagreement with a bear over some fish I caught. Call this a pre-handfasting present."

"De bear did not hurt you an' Wolvie much, non?" Remy inquired worriedly. Although he knew that the older man possessed remarkable healing, he often feared that Logan might suffer from repeated injuries that his body could no longer cope with.

"Nah! As you can see, I'm fit as a fiddle."

"Oui, mais..." There was a hint of a glow in Remy's eyes as he peered into the golden tints of his lover's orbs. Speaking to the feral within, he said, "You should learn to control dat temper o' yours. I don' want either o' you to get hurt...or worse..."

"We're always careful, Gumbo. Don't worry." Logan picked up the cloak and, unfurling it like a crimson banner, swept it around the younger man's form. He even laced it up and then pulled up the hood over Remy's head.

With a sigh, Remy closed his eyes, sniffing the animal musk of his lover on the cloak. Determined, he declared, "I'll return to ya as quickly as I could. I cannot wait to be joined to you at last."

"And I to you." Logan gave the Cajun's taut bottom a squeeze and a reluctant pat. "Now, get going, Gumbo. I'll be waitin' for ya."

"Je t'aime, Logan," Remy whispered huskily as he gave the older man one last passionate kiss. "Keep de home fires burnin' 'til I come back."

Before he could give in to his heart's true desire, the young Cajun turned on his heels and continued on, stifling the bone deep shudder that rose up his spine as he found himself all but enveloped by darkness.

But then, a gentle breeze caressed his face like a tender kiss. And with that slight wind, it carried the reassuring words of his lover, now rough with the voice of the feral within him. Words that calmed Remy and made him smile.

"If ya find yourself in trouble, just call out my name and I'll come runnin' to ya."

 

 

**CONTINUED IN CHAPTER TWO.**

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

**CHAPTER TWO**

 

It was around nightfall – a rough estimate considering that the thick canopy of the trees above his head prevented any light from shining through – when Remy stumbled upon his first corpse. This was literal, because the young Cajun's foot tripped over the dead man as he was carefully picking his way through the gnarled roots of an old cypress by the light of his lamp. But, as he gingerly picked himself up from the ground, greater was his horror when he beheld the sordid state of the deceased.

The man was about the same age as his adoptive father, but heavier and muscular in build. His legs were spread in a wide V, making the grotesque sight of a large beefy hand gripping the base of a black, putrescent member all too visible to Remy's shocked ebony and crimson eyes. The man's head was tilted backwards, a smile forever frozen on his face. Judging from the pools of congealed come between the man's legs and on his belly and the spatters on his thighs, it was all too obvious that the poor fellow had pumped himself off endlessly until his heart simply gave out on him.

"Ugly way to go," Remy found himself muttering the words he had earlier said to Logan in jest.

Faced with the horror of reality, however, he was suddenly seized by a feeling of profound anger. What could possibly have caused the man to debase himself to death? Could this be the strange illness that Tante Mattie hinted about in her letter?

A deep shade of red colored Remy's cheeks as his eyes alighted once more upon the corpse's erection, which was now bent at an unnatural angle near the tip. Gathering an armload of dried leaves, he carefully arranged them over the man's lower body until the shameful sight was completely concealed.

"I'm truly sorry, homme," Remy told the corpse with sincere regret as he reached out to pull down those open eyelids. "Didn't mean to damage your...you know. I promise I'll come back an' give ya a decent burial."

As his fingers touched the cold skin, Remy found himself drawn towards that smile. He remembered seeing a similar smile before...

 

_The palace was crumbling all around him, but strong arms held him protectively, a warm body shielding him from the falling debris._

_There was a gentle smile on the face of his rescuer, so out of place since there was a gaping hole on the man's temple from which a wooden spike still protruded._

_With his small trembling hands, he gripped the spike. "Let me get this out of you, Monsieur."_

_The man did not even cry out when he pulled the spike out of his head. But...all that blood..._

_"Je suis desole, Monsieur! Desole! Because o' me, you're bleedin' badly! Are ya...dyin'? Non! Desole! Desole!"_

_Cold fingers wiped away his tears. "No, I'll be fine. Ya did the right thing, kid. Just...let me...rest a bit. Hold on tightly to me. My body will keep you safe from all harm."_

_The man's eyes were slowly closing, and he found himself asking in alarm. "You're just gonna rest...sleep, oui? Ya promise you're goin' to wake up? Ya won't leave me alone?"_

_"I promise," and his savior breathed one last time and fell limp over his tiny, frail body._

_There was no doubt. His rescuer was dead. As he lay in the cradle of his embrace, he could hear no heartbeats from the broad chest or puffs of warm air from those lips. But he held on to the man and that promise, which he knew would never be kept. _

_Then, after an hour maybe more, the eyelids opened to reveal the most beautiful gold eyes he had ever seen in his life. This was followed by a bright, confident grin revealing sharp canines. A fist was raised and three gleaming blades popped out of the knuckles._

_"Did ya miss me, kid? It's time to dig our way out."_

_"Remy, Monsieur. Please call me Remy," he exclaimed in relief as he gave his resurrected savior a tight hug._

_Right then and there, Remy realized that he had fallen in love with the man whose name he will later learn was Logan._

 

A low eerie moan drifted with the chilly breeze from behind him, drawing Remy out of his childhood memory. Whirling, he raised the lamp, its light revealing a small, tight opening through a copse of trees.

"If you find yourself in trouble, just call out my name an' I'll come runnin'," he recalled his lover's words before they parted ways.

"Non, Wolvie, Logan," Remy whispered with a smile. "I'll be handlin' dis one on my own."

Fear that someone could be injured urged the young Cajun to hurriedly squeeze through the opening, not minding the twigs and branches that yanked the hood of his cloak off his head and scratched his cheek. But nothing could have prepared him for the shocking sight that awaited him.

If it were still in its original state, the clearing he had stumbled upon would have been an ideal spot for lovers making a clandestine rendezvous because of the foliage surrounding it. But now, all the trees were dead, nothing more than sinister skeletal forms in the shadows. What was once soft, moist grass was now parched earth covered with dead leaves that crackled underfoot.

"Mon dieu!" Remy instinctively crossed himself, as he gingerly trudged through the corpses that were strewn all over the clearing.

All were in various positions of sexual congress. Most were in pairs – mainly men and women, although there were also quite a number of same sex pairs. Some were in groups of four to five, and Remy – out of prurience – could not bring himself to look at whatever bizarre positions they had contorted themselves into.

There was a soft frustrated whimper to his right. Remy's lips formed a tight grim line, seeing an emaciated man still trying to seat himself deep into his male lover, who was bent over a boulder and had long since perished with mouth agape like a fish out of water. His thrusts were nothing more than feeble tremors.

Getting down on one knee, Remy laid a calming hand over the dying man's forehead and whispered, "Dat's enough, mon brave. De two o' you are worn out. You must rest now."

The Cajun's words seemed to release the man from the spell he was caught in. As a tear fell from his rheumy right eye, he mumbled a raspy, "Merci."

Seeing that the man did not have long to live, Remy asked, "Can ya tell me what happened here? Who – or what – caused dis?"

The man inhaled deeply, his thin chest ballooning. Then, he exhaled right into Remy's face, his breath a mossy green color with a sickly, sweet odor.

"Ge...de...ni...bo..." the man whispered, as he shuddered briefly and then expired.

Remy stepped away from the dead man, right hand going up to cover his nose and mouth. It was a useless gesture of protection, however.

As he looked on in growing horror, green vapor exuded from the mouths of the corpses, covering the clearing in its sickly haze. The Cajun's red on black eyes grew wide as the green mist touched the trees with wispy tendrils. Only then did Remy see the words that were scratched on the tree trunks with torn and bloody fingernails.

** _GHEDE NIBO._ ** __

A loud crack behind him, and Remy spun around – playing cards ready in his left hand – to face the threat, only to find a sorry-looking group of young men and women.

"Thank God!" he hurried towards them. "I thought I'd never see a living soul in dese woods. Are ya from de Creole colony? Do ya know a woman named Mattie Baptiste?"

But no response was forthcoming. With their blank stares and pale countenances, they could be mistaken for zombies. Rimy, however, knew that they were in a state of a shock. Judging from their tattered garments and disheveled appearances, these poor people had been viciously abused.

Grabbing the shoulders of the nearest girl, he demanded, "Who did this to ya? Tell me! Who is Ghede Nibo?"

Suddenly, there was a nasty cackling coming from the direction from which the group came. The girl in Remy's arms began to tremble, hearing those noises that were coming closer and closer. He was forced to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming.

Thinking fast, Remy began pushing them into a thick clump of bushes. "Hide in dere and keep quiet! I'll take care o' dis!"

As soon as he concealed the last man, a maniacal face popped out of the dark shadows, followed by another and another... Wild, lustful eyes focused on him.

Remy let the basket fall to the ground, but with his right hand still clutching the lamp's handle. The marauders – ten big men – emerged from the darkness. The Cajun could sense, however, that more lurked in the shadows.

Standing his ground, Remy declared, "Don't take another step closer or you'll regret it."

That threat stopped the men's approach temporarily. But then, they began to move sideways with the clear intention of circling him.

"Are ya responsible for dis? Ghede Nibo...is dat de name o' your tribe?" he asked undaunted. "Or is he your leader? I demand answers right now!"

A Black man, his face painted like a skull, stepped forward and replied, "Ghede Nibo...he is one o' de great loa, son o' Baron Samedi himself. He say dat before All Hallow's Eve is done, he shall give us all dat we desire."

Remy recognized the name of the voodoo god Baron Samedi from the tales that Tante Mattie had told him, but Ghede Nibo was new to him. Nevertheless, he seethed in fury at the violence that had been committed. "Are ya tellin' me dat dis madness was caused by a spirit? Mon tante...she tol' me about de loa, an' dis..." He waved to the corpses. "...Dis is not deir way!"

"An' how would ya know, homme?" the man asked, moving closer and closer until he and the Cajun were face to face. "Are ya a loa too?"

At that insidious query, the Cajun suddenly felt his heart give a hard, resonating thump inside his chest. He let out a startled gasp as the Black man breathed green vapor right into his face. He reeled back, as his head began to spin. Fingers fumbled inside his pocket for some playing cards, only to drop them to the ground. Out of the corner of his hazy eye, he saw three men approaching him. With an angry cry, he flung the lamp at them, the glass breaking and fire spreading across the clearing.

Then, a large shadow burst through the flames. For a second, it looked like a thundering carriage –_Where did that thought come from?_ – about to run him over.

The next moment, Remy was lying flat on his face on the ground, pinned by the Black man. Before he knew what was happening, many hands were tearing off his clothes and boots. There was a strong tugging at his back, and he vaguely realized that his would-be ravishers were struggling to remove his cloak.

When cold, clammy fingers began exploring his bare skin, anger surged through his entire being like lava from an exploding volcano. Instinctively, the Cajun charged the earth around him.

"GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF ME!" Remy shouted, and the ground blew up, sending his attackers flying through the air.

Although still woozy from the strange mist, Remy leaped to his feet. Flinging the cloak over his naked frame, he jumped through the fire. Pressing his hands to the ground once more, he released a charge in a circular motion, blowing up a trench that would contain the blaze. Hearing the agonized screams, he ran and did not even bother to look back. For him, those foul wretches deserved to burn in that inferno. His main concern now was to find Tante Mattie immediately. He would need the mambo's help in dealing with Ghede Nibo.

Strong arms suddenly wrapped around his waist, and a heavy body barreled into him, so that he fell forward onto a tree stump. He made to drive his elbow back and right into the face of whomever it was that shoved him down, only to have both his arms seized. A burned leering face popped at his right. A similar face appeared at his left, skin peeling to reveal raw, charred flesh underneath.

Then, Remy felt his cloak roughly swept aside, and bloody, slimy hands caressed his bare buttocks.

"Don' worry, homme." It was the voice of the Black man. "Dis won' hurt one bit."

Remy was outraged by the indecencies being committed upon his person and by his state of helplessness, with his mind still muddled by the mist. Logan's name was on the verge of spilling out of his mouth, but stubborn pride was keeping him from calling his lover. Feeling fingers part the crack of his bottom, he gritted his teeth and, throwing away his noble notion that no further hurt be inflicted upon the injured, he let a lethal charge build up inside his body, ready to course the wild energy into his attackers.

There was a hollow thunk behind him, and the heavy weight pinning him down was lifted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw what looked like a stick bash the head of the man at his left. The other man too fell lifeless to the ground a second after, his head also a bloody pulp. His wrist was suddenly grabbed, and he was pulled to his feet and into a run.

Through his blurry eyes, the Cajun could make out his savior to be the middle-aged Black woman who had taken care of him as a child.

"Tante?" Remy asked breathlessly.

"Oui, chile," Tante Mattie answered. "Mais, let's not talk here. I'm takin' ya some place safe."

"Can't ya slow down a bit?" He could barely see his feet touch the ground at their very swift pace. "I don't want ya getting' hurt!"

"Are ya insultin' me, petit? You're de one who could hardly keep up with dis ole lady!"

The problem was Remy's addled mind was not sure that the figure running in front of him was his Tante, or if it was even human. While there seemed to be a solid human shape in front of him, his eyesight would waver and instead he would see what looked like a long, brown vine wrapped around his right wrist. Indeed, his skin was signaling him that it wasn't a hand that was holding him, but a tentacle.

They ran through the green mist-covered woods for what seemed like miles. But instead of the run helping to clear his head, the more it felt like his brain was being smothered by smoke. When they finally came to a stop, he was so tired, breathless and confused that Mattie had to prop him up with her hands on his shoulders.

"Listen to me, Remy," Mattie began firmly. "Dese woods are not safe for ya. De...disease...has been spreadin'. Many have been infected an' have gone insane. I've been tryin' to get de Creoles who haven't been afflicted out o' de colony. I'm goin' back dere right now."

"Den let me come with you!" Remy insisted. "I can help."

"Not in de state you're in now. I can see dat you breathed in de mist. I'm not sure if you've been infected, mais here..." She handed him a cup. "Drink dis. It will help fight off de infection. Your hands are tremblin' though. Let me hol' de cup for ya."

The Cajun briefly wondered where that cup had materialized from. Rather than ask, he obediently let his Tante bring the cup to his lips, and he sipped the bitter brew.

When he had consumed all of it to the mambo's satisfaction, Mattie pointed to the small cabin standing between two tall trees. Funny, that he hadn't noticed it at all.

"See dat dere cabin? I have an ole man dere. He ain't sick, mais I want ya to protect him while I go fetch de others. Dose who have gone mad...many o' dem are roamin' dis here part o' de woods. I've put a protective charm inside de cabin to ward dem off. It'll hold until de midnight hour o' All Hallow's Eve is done."

"Mais, you tol' me it's a disease. What kind o' disease is it dat needs spells to keep dose ill with it away?"

"It's an unnatural disease dat's bein' spread by a loa named Ghede Nibo." Mattie spat into the ground. "An' his evil magic ends tonight."

Remy shook his head, not to clear his wavering vision, but at the wrongness of that statement. From somewhere deep inside his heart, a tiny but strong voice was telling him that Ghede Nibo was not responsible for this craziness. That Ghede Nibo was...

Mattie's hands pushed him in the direction of the cabin. "Go, chile. I'll be with ya shortly."

Wrapping the cloak around his shivering, naked form, the Cajun gave the Black woman one last reluctant glance before trudging slowly toward the cabin, unaware of the green mist that thickened and pulsed behind him.

The woman, whom he believed was the mambo, smiled broadly as she watched Remy approach the front door. That smile vanished, however, when a sharp blade cut off her head. The glamour instantly dissipated, and the tentacle twitched and squirmed wildly like a beheaded cobra, putrid juices spewing from the cut. Another swing of the blade and it flopped to the ground.

Tante Mattie emerged from the shadows with machete in hand. She had been horrified to see her young ward drink the juices that the tentacle had poured into his mouth. Mattie turned her dark gaze toward the gigantic creature to which the tentacle had been attached too. Its mouth was open, revealing enormous and sharp white teeth.

"REMY, CHILE! NO!" she screamed out to the Cajun, but it was too late.

Mattie could only watch helplessly as Remy stepped into the creature's gaping maw, those huge teeth slowly closing behind him, and was swallowed whole.

 

Logan had lingered at the spot where he and his lover parted ways. Earlier, he had received a telepathic summons from Xavier, but for some reason, he could not bring himself to go back to the X Guild just yet. Many times, he would find himself staring at the woods where Remy had disappeared into, only to hear the younger man's firm voice inside his head.

"You should have more faith in me, mon couer."

"I do, Gumbo. I do have a lot of faith in ya," Logan whispered. "But, I can't help but worry about ya. Twice, I came close to losin' ya. I'm not losin' ya again."

Suddenly, his heart gave a sudden lurch, so that he dropped to his knees, holding his aching breast. "What the hell..." But, instead of finishing that startled statement, a low growl was released unbidden from his constricted throat.

Logan felt his feral side fighting to gain dominance. Never had he felt such sheer panic, desperation, and rage before. No, that was wrong. He _had_ experienced similar emotions before...when he had accompanied the Patriarch of the Thieves Guild in rescuing a little boy from the Antiquary.

"Is it Remy?" he asked the Wolverine inside him. "Is Remy in trouble?"

It was a rhetorical question which Logan himself knew the answer to. His eyes turned a bright golden shade as he allowed Wolverine to take control. With a roar of fury, he loped into the woods in search of his mate.

 

 

**CONTINUED IN CHAPTER THREE.**

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

**PART THREE**

 

Even with Logan's cloak wrapped around him, running bare naked through the woods left Remy chilled to the bone, so that he was anticipating the warmth that the cabin offered. Great was his disappointment, however, when he at last stepped inside.

No cozy fire blazed in the hearth, possibly a precaution to prevent the marauders lurking in the woods from finding out that people were seeking shelter within. There was some heat inside the cabin, but it was an uncomfortable one. The Cajun was not sure if the heat was being generated by the sole lamp hanging from the ceiling or from his own flesh. Wiping away the sweat from his forehead, he was alarmed to feel the fever on his skin. And it was not the fever of illness, but something else.

Hoping to distract himself from the rampant sensual cravings of his body, Remy approached the lamp to get a closer look at it.

As he had surmised, it was the lamp that was indeed keeping the marauders away, and he wondered where Tante Mattie had acquired such a queer-looking thing. Remy thought at first that it was molded in the shape of a nautilus. Upon closer inspection though, it looked more like a big, fat slug with knobs and spikes protruding from its back. Instead of a tail, its body ended in numerous tentacles with pale pink suckers. Sharp teeth protruded from its mouth. Glowing with an eerie green aura, it seemed as if the lamp was suspended in mid-air, or was it just a trick of the shadows. Curious, Remy raised a finger to touch the strange object.

"Oh! I didn't know that I had company."

Remy turned at that voice, at last beholding the old man seated on the bed. "Excusez moi, Monsieur, for de intrusion. With dis cabin so dark, I'm afraid I did not see you."

The old man 'pooh-poohed' dismissingly. "Mattie dared not risk a fire lest our hiding place be discovered. Are ya Remy, de young man she said who would come to help?"

"Oui, I am Remy LeBeau, 'though I don't think I've been of any help so far," the Cajun remarked sheepishly. "Could ya please tell me what happened? Tante left in a hurry to fetch de other colonists, and she hasn't told me anything."

The old man turned his thoughtful gaze towards the lamp. "It came without warning, not like regular illnesses dat first present with symptoms. Or maybe de signs were dere, an' we just chose to ignore dem, attributing dem to the restlessness of youth. Young men an' women were more flirtatious...sensuous...toward deir lovers or spouses. Later, dey were no longer content with their partners and sought passion in the arms of others, but even with other lovers, they could not be satisfied. Unable to find satiation, it drove dem mad. Many sent themselves to an early grave through relentless self-abasement or coupling. Others became violent, forcing deir rapacious urges upon anyone who had de misfortune to catch deir fancy. As for deir poor victims..."

"Oui, I know," Remy said grimly, praying that the small group of catatonics he had stumbled upon in the forest remained safely hidden. "Mais, what caused all dis? I refuse to believe dat a loa is responsible for dis insanity. Dey may be known for acts of mischief from time to time, but dey are incapable of dis kind of evil."

"Dat's because you don' know Ghede Nibo."

Remy shook his head vehemently. Something inside him insisted that the mysterious loa named Ghede Nibo was not the cause of the madness that had befallen the colony.

"Why do ya still refuse to believe after what you've seen tonight? What more proof do you require?"

At that query, a wave of dizziness suddenly hit the Cajun, so that he had to prop an arm on the table to keep himself from toppling to the floor. His vision alternately blurred and cleared. He tried to focus on the old man, but what he saw instead was a dark, hooded form. At the sight of that horrifying figure, Remy squeezed his eyes tight and quickly opened them, only to behold the old man again.

Going to the old stove, he said shakily, "Let me fix us some tea." Lighting a small fire, the Cajun set the kettle – half-filled with water – on top to boil. He cautiously turned to his patient again, and the old man gave him a smile.

And yet that smile curdled his blood. Recalling the hooded figure he had seen briefly, he wondered why it seemed so familiar. Damn his fogged mind! Why couldn't he remember?

When the tea was ready, Remy poured some into a chipped cup he had found in the cupboard.

"Here's de tea, Monsieur," he announced as he made to approach the bed, steaming cup held in his hands, only to stop at once.

Through his wavering eyesight, the old man's eyes were unusually large and glowing with the same eerie green light as the lamp.

"Monsieur," Remy hesitated, "I did not notice it before, mais what big eyes ya have."

The old man laughed as he gestured for the Cajun to come nearer. "Pourquoi, all de better to see ya with, mon petite voleur! Now, come closer."

At that endearment, a shiver slithered up Remy's spine. Yet, for some strange reason, he could not disobey that command. Worse, his body was being consumed by a terrible, obscene hunger. With every little step toward the bed, he was gripped with the inexplicable urge to surrender himself – body and soul – to the old man. Unmistakable desire was also mirrored on the face of the waiting figure.

_Non!_ Remy resisted with all his might, willing his feet to stop moving. _I belong to no one except mon couer Logan!_

The choice, however, was taken away from him. A gnarled hand with long, sharp fingernails whipped out with the swiftness of a snake and closed around the Cajun's wrist. With a cry of surprise, Remy fell onto the bed. His shocked eyes flew wide, seeing the old man straddling him and eagerly untying the laces of his cloak, flinging it wide open.

In his shock, it did not register to him at first that his naked body was completely exposed to the old man's lascivious attentions. Ridiculous as it was, what did register to him were the man's large hands, which were rubbing over the firm mounds of his chest.

"Monsieur," Remy gasped as callused fingertips pinched his nipples hard, "what big hands ya have!"

"Pourquoi," the old man began, reaching down to grip the Cajun's member and give it a few frenetic pumps, "all de better to feel and caress your luscious body with, mon garcon doux!"

"Non!" Remy tried to extricate himself from the old man's grip, only to find his arms yanked above his head. He shuddered all over as his fevered flesh was tormented by lips and tongue. "Non, Monsieur! S'il vous plait! Ne fais pas ça pour moi!"

Sharp teeth nibbled at the side of his neck. "Ah, but I've been searchin' for ya for sooo long. Now dat I found you again, how could ya tell me to stop?"

Remy cursed his body for betraying him like this. To his disgust, the old man's mouth seemed to stretch wide over his throat, a thick fleshy tongue licking the throbbing artery. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the lamp was glowing brightly, as if it were being fed with energy from somewhere.

"Monsieur, ta bouche!" The Cajun tried to push the old man off him in vain. "Your mouth!"

"Oui, I know," the old man murmured with a soft cackle. "All de better to devour you, ma cherie!"

"Qui...etes-vous? Who...are... you?"

"Je suis Ghede Nibo, an' I demand dat you surrender to me! Give me eternal life!"

At these words, the old man's mouth became a cavernous maw that sealed over the stunned Cajun's mouth and nose. Slowly but surely, he began to suck in his unwilling lover's soul, and drawing out long-forgotten memories at the same time.

But the atrocity that the old man was committing upon him did not register inside Remy's mind. What did was that name.

Ghede Nibo. That name again. How dare he use that name!

_How dare you!_

From somewhere deep within him, an alien power surged up to fill every fiber of his being. That, and terrible outrage and fury the likes of which he had never felt before. Although kind-hearted by nature, Remy allowed that rage to consume him.

Greedy as he was for the Cajun's life energy, the old man was completely oblivious to the changes that were occurring in the still body beneath him – how the crimson color of the irises bled out to the blacks of the eyes, and how that ebony shade slowly but surely crept over the pale skin. Those wavy, auburn locks turned into the soft ivory color of silken cobwebs. As a finishing touch, a glowing green circlet of vines and thorns curled across the brow.

The old man paused at the sound of the low rumble of mocking laughter coming from within the seal of his mouth. The voice that spoke next was heavy with a Haitian accent.

"I do admire your gall, stylin' yourself to be one o' de great vodoun deities. Now, why don' ya show me who ya really are...Pretender?"

Shocked, the old man pulled back from the younger man, the glamour instantly falling away to reveal the hooded wraith. The hood had fallen back to reveal a much older man, his face marred with hideous wrinkles. His eyes gaped in horror at the changed form of his prey. The Cajun's blackened face, with its glowing red eyes, grinned back at him like the Devil himself.

"So, it's you," Remy hissed, his hand reaching for his last card – the Ace of Spades – which had somehow gotten caught within the folds of his cloak. "I should have known it was you. Oui...mon cher Antiquary."

 

 

**CONTINUED IN PART FOUR...**

**TRANSLATION:**

1) mon petite voleur = my little thief

2) mon garcon doux = my sweet boy

3) S'il vous plait! = Please!

4) Ne fais pas ça pour moi! = Don't do this to me!

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

**PART FOUR**

 

It was a very rare occurrence whenever Logan and Wolverine acted in tandem. Most of the time, it was Logan who was in control, stomping on the animal urges of his alter ego for fear of what it might do if released from its fetters of human rationality and resolve. The few times that he did break free as a result of Logan's anger and foul temper getting the better of him, Wolverine's fury and rampage were unstoppable. Logan would awaken hours later, shocked and horrified, to deal with the messy aftermath.

But it was a different matter now. Remy LeBeau – Logan's fiancé, Wolverine's chosen mate – was in danger. United in one goal to save the young man they loved, the two aspects have joined forces to become one formidable being.

Combining Logan's exceptional tracking skills and Wolverine's heightened senses, the path that the young Cajun had taken through the woods was quickly traced. It did not take long for him to find the clearing. Logan wrinkled his nose in distaste at the bizarre contortions of the corpses. For some strange and unknown reason, handfuls of dirt have been thrown over the bodies.

One couple in a rather twisted, amorous position caught his eye. He mumbled in revulsion, "If that doesn't turn you off from sex, I don't know what will."

It did not take long for him to find the frightened group of victims that Remy had safely hidden away in the thick brush.

"Have any of ya seen a young man with red and black eyes?" Logan demanded, looking at each terrified face.

One woman's answer, however, was an ear-piercing shriek, as a marauder leaped high from behind a bush with the clear intent of taking Logan down. But Wolverine had already sensed his stealthy approach.

As he whirled around, gleaming adamantium blades popped out of the knuckles of his right hand, and slashed through his attacker's belly. The man fell twitching to the ground, clutching his guts that had spilled out of the gaping wound.

"RUN!" Logan shouted to the victims, who fled helter-skelter, as more mad, cackling figures rushed out of the shadows.

The new few minutes passed in a bloody red blur as Logan permitted Wolverine to slash away with devilish glee. Sharp blades skewered, slashed and gutted the marauders one by one. Three men in particular, who were burned to a crisp, were relentless in their attacks, coming at him again and again despite the fatal wounds he had inflicted upon them. This suited Wolverine just fine. He had caught the heavy scent of Remy on their charred skins. He would have killed them again and again for daring to lay hands on his mate.

It was for the reason that they _were_ unstoppable that Logan clamped down on Wolverine's rampage. As he looked closely, a thick green mist descended from the trees. Wispy tendrils entered the burned marauders' mouths and nostrils. More tendrils entered their fallen comrades, and their bodies too twitched with renewed life.

Curious, Logan sniffed at that miasma, only to have delicious heat shoot down to his groin. The mist, however, did not agree with Wolverine, so that he let out an explosive sneeze. A drop of glistening snot hung from his left nostril.

"That's disgusting!" Logan exclaimed in revulsion, wiping his nose on his sleeve while keeping an eye on the rising dead men.

"Ya took de words right o' my mouth, mon brave," a voice suddenly said from behind the marauders. "Stabbin' dem with dose pig-stickers won' work. Let me show ya how it's done."

In the blink of an eye, two heads rolled at his feet. Another man was felled with a slash across the neck, and a handful of dirt was thrown over him.

"To prevent dem from risin' up again," was the explanation.

"Thanks for the tip," Logan grinned at the small Black woman as he charged at the marauders.

It was over in minutes. Panting for breath, Logan lifted his gaze toward Tante Mattie, who was holding a bloody machete in her hand.

"Ya certainly took your time comin' here, Logan," the woman remarked chidingly.

"I would've come sooner, perhaps even accompanied Remy into this God-forsaken forest, but..." Logan chewed on his lower lip guiltily. "...I promised that I would let him handle this on his own, that I would trust him." He gave Mattie a menacing glower. "What about you though? Why'd you send for him? I know damned well that you are more than capable of dealing with this." He waved a hand to the corpses.

"For your information, I did not send for Remy. Dis was all de sinister plan of he who – up to the present time – continues to lust for de beauty and de immense power dat my beloved chile possesses. I tried to stop him, mais he has allied himself with a...creature...that has been inciting overpowering emotions in de colonists and feeding deir agitated life energies into him."

Logan did not even have to guess who Mattie was referring to. "That bastard has been a rankling thorn in Remy's side for lord knows how long. I should've killed him when I had the chance."

Mattie shook her head. "Non, you wouldn't. Your full attention then was focused on gettin' de boy back alive. After losin' him once, you didn't want to lose him again."

"You're damned right I didn't want to go through that pain again...the uncertainty, the loneliness. But this time, that son of a bitch has gone too far and I'm takin' care of him once and for all. Where's Remy?"

Before Mattie could answer, a Black man – clad in fine gentleman's clothes and a top hat on his head – interrupted with a cadaverous grin on his face, "In de belly o' de beast, 'though I must say dat huge monster ain't really de creature mais its protective shell which has acquired a life of its own." Taking the shovel from its sling at his back, he waved at the gigantic brown slug not too far from where they stood. The beast was squirming and writhing, its tentacles flailing.

Logan gawked, horrified, at the monster and then at the couple. "Are ya tellin' me that Remy's inside that thing? Why didn't you do something?" The Wolverine inside him growled his displeasure. "Don't tell me I made a mistake in entrustin' his welfare to you two!"

The Black man became serious at this tirade. "Ya can't always fight de boy's battles for him. I believe mon fils told ya as much. Besides, I think he has taken care o' everythin' already." He gave Mattie a toothy smile. "Takes after his Pere, oui?"

"De nerve of ya takin' all de credit!" Mattie snorted in outrage, slapping his back hard. "I was de one who practically raised de chile when he chose to return to dis mortal plane."

Logan stiffened, his blood running cold, as he listened to their exchange. "Wait! You said that Remy has taken care of everything. What do you mean by that? Are ya saying that Remy..." The couple lapsed into uncomfortable silence, and Logan groaned miserably.

"I don't believe this! I DON'T believe this! You turned Remy into..."

"Ya prayed, no, ya begged me dat he live," the Black man said solemnly. "But de accident had left his body broken beyond my powers to heal him. If he were to return to ya alive an' well, he needed to possess de gift o' resurrection, and he could only have dat power if he were..."

But Logan refused to listen to him. Snarling in exasperation and anger, he stomped over to the thrashing creature, chopping off its flailing tentacles with his claws. "Gods! I should never have trusted 'em!"

The monster let out a dying shriek as Logan cut through its body with a vertical slash. He was about to step inside when the Black man called out his name.

"Logan!"

"What?"

"Just thought I'd warn you. He remembers everything now, mon brave."

Logan was about to give him the middle-finger salute, but instead caught the tin flask that Mattie tossed into his hands.

"Give dat to de boy," Mattie firmly advised, waving him off. "It'll help make de truth easier to swallow."

"I'll probably end up drinkin' all of this myself before I see the kid." With a curt nod, Logan grimaced in revulsion as he parted the slimy folds of the creature's skin. Squeezing through the opening, he heard Mattie give a sharp command to the man beside her.

"What'cha gapin' dere for, eh? Ya have li'l time left. Ya better start diggin' dem bodies into deir graves. I don' want no sex-crazed zombies risin' up on All Saint's."

There was the sound of the shovel being dragged on the ground.

"Quit your yappin', woman! You should show your husband some respect! An' why ya just throw dirt over 'em? Ya should have buried 'em yourself."

"Diggin's your job, mon brave."

There were furious mumblings and sounds of digging. "Dang it! How can I finish buryin' all dese bodies in time? De least mon fils could do is help his poor Pere."

Consoling chuckles. "Now, now, Papa Samedi! De boy has been helpin' ya without a single complaint when he was still livin' with us. Mais now, he deserves de happiness dat has long been denied him. Besides, it's not like we've lost our son. Dere's always next year, an' now dat he has regained his memories, ya know how seriously he fulfills his duties."

"I suppose you're right, Maman Brigitte," Baron Samedi laughed in agreement. "I suppose you're right."

 

"I wonder if this is how Jonah felt when he was inside that whale," Logan pondered with a pout.

On the outside, the creature was enormous. Inside, it seemed much bigger somehow, like walking through a dark, endless tunnel with slimy walls and soft, slippery entrails at his feet. The stench was sickening, and it was only because of his body's healing and adaptive abilities that Logan was able to stop himself from retching his guts out. What kept him going deep into the beast's body was the green glimmer that he could make out at the very end.

As he drew closer and closer toward his goal, he began to hear voices, the louder of which were the plaintive cries of an old man.

"No! I beg you! Please let me live! I swear I will not trouble you ever again!"

"I have trembled in your shadow long enough! Twice, you have nearly destroyed my life. Because of you, I have been apart from de man I love for so long. Now, not only did ya use my name to commit dese atrocities upon de Creoles in order to sate your greed for immortality and lust for beauty, ya even tricked a poor lonely creature for your evil ends! _Impardonnable!_"

Blood-curdling screams resounded through the tunnel, and Logan hastened toward the light to find himself inside a huge cavern, which was the beast's stomach.

As he gasped in shock, he saw that the Antiquary was slowly being consumed by a thick cloud of what looked like black gnats. Each round speck possessed a gaping mouth with razor-sharp teeth, which tore through the old man's flesh.

"Help me! HELP ME!" the Antiquary screeched at Logan, right hand reaching out to him, only to have his cries silenced by the black motes that swarmed into his mouth and down his throat.

Soon, his entire body was covered by that gluttonous cloud. Then, it began to descend, as its substance was sucked into a spot on the floor. When the cloud had completely disappeared, Logan gaped at the Ace of Spades lying on the ground.

At that moment, the shadows in the corner moved, seeming to coalesce into a dark, but clearly human figure, who bent down to pick up the fallen card. Because this sinister stranger's back was turned to him, all Logan could see were the graceful lines of that charcoal black body and the flowing white mane.

"_Bon debarras!_" the stranger mumbled hotly as he picked up the crimson bear skin cloak at his feet.

He then turned his attention toward the trembling creature floating in the air. Opening the cloak, he said gently, "Don' be afraid o' me, petit. I won' hurt ya."

Reaching out a dark hand to it, the creature, however, cringed away.

"I'm not mad at you. I don' blame ya for what happened. De Antiquary tricked ya. It's not your fault. S'il vous plait, petit. Come into my arms. Let me comfort ya."

The creature hesitated for moment, before floating down and settling on the warm cloak.

"Dere, dere now," the stranger cuddled it to his breast – not minding the quivering tentacles that wrapped around his neck and shoulders – and slowly turned around. "It's goin' to be all right now. I promise."

Logan's jaw dropped instantly, as he beheld that handsome face, now black as coal with completely red eyes glowing like embers. Circling his brow was an intricate tattoo of glowing green vines and sharp thorns. In his shock, all he could do was breathe out an awed and hesitant whisper.

"Remy?"

 

 

**CONCLUDED IN PART FIVE.**

**TRANSLATION:**

1) Impardonnable! = Unforgivable!

2) Bon debarras! = Good riddance!

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

**PART FIVE**

 

"Remy?"

That soft and faltering whisper of his name was like a frigid wind that froze Remy where he stood. Even the sight of Logan's bloodied form could not spur him to move to ascertain his lover's well-being. The look of shock – and was that fear? – on the older man's face was enough to keep him riveted in place.

_Merde, merde, merde!_ the word echoed inside his mind. _He saw me in this infernal form!_ He would have covered his frightening visage from his lover's stunned view, but the creature was swathed in the folds of his cloak.

Sensing the younger man's dilemma, Logan let a reassuring smile curl up his lips, and he said, "No, it's all right. You...you look wonderful."

"Don' give me dat crap, Logan!" Remy spat back. "I know how I look!"

"Gumbo, I'm tellin' ya the truth. Ya _do_ look wonderful. Different...but wonderful."

Remy was not convinced. Snorting dismissingly, a stray tear trickled down his cheek, which the creature in his arms feebly brushed away with the tip of a tentacle.

"Papa Samedi's idea of a joke. If I were to become his son, I should look like him at least. I eventually got used to it when I was still livin' with him an' Maman Brigitte. Mais now?" The Cajun began to shake with pent up emotion. "I thought I'd purged dat aspect o' myself when I returned to dis Earth. De last thing I wanted was for you to see me in dis form!"

"Remy, you obviously still have much love for and pride in this aspect of yourself. If ya didn't, you wouldn't have been that furious with the Antiquary for usin' your vodoun deity name," Logan sagely pointed out to his lover. He walked over to what looked like a large plump organ – possibly a kidney – and sat down, patting the seat beside him. "Come here, darling."

"How could ya still call me dat...after seeing what I've done!"

"What you did was called justice, an' that bastard had it comin' to him for a long, long time."

Remy looked questioningly into the older man's face. Slightly heartened by that reply, he timidly trudged over to his lover's side. Logan offered him the flask. Twisting off the cap, the Cajun took a deep swallow.

"Dat's mighty fine rum," Remy remarked. "From Tante? Non, I guess I must call her Maman Brigitte now."

"She told me you might need a drink."

"She always knew what I needed, perhaps much more dan me."

Logan noticed pearly lavender eyes observing him. "Is this it?" he asked, letting a calming hand caress what he thought was the creature's head. "This the critter that the Antiquary used in order to siphon off the life energies of his victims?"

"Oui," Remy confirmed with a nod. "Poor thing came from beyond the stars. He belonged to a race of telepathic feeders. Dey needed powerful feelings in order to survive. Dis little one was seekin' an emotion. I don' know how de Antiquary got him. But de connard tricked him, made him a promise – if de petit would help him suck out de life forces o' de Creole colonists, he was sure to find de emotion dat he has been searchin' for during the process."

"And what emotion is that?"

"Love."

Logan let out a low whistle. "Somethin' so simple. But the Antiquary bombarded this poor kid..." He could no longer think of the creature in Remy's embrace as a monster. "...With lust, twisted desire, sex, violence and lord knows what else."

"An' de overload proved to be too much for de petit. He's dyin', Logan. De last o' his kind." Remy hugged the little creature tightly. "An' I could do nothin' to save him."

Logan could feel his lover's pain like stormy waves battering against his heart. Reaching out, his fingers played with a silky lock of white hair.

"I know how you feel," he quietly admitted to the younger man. "I felt the same...that first time."

Because of his restored memories, Remy knew what his lover was talking about.

Almost half a century back, he and Logan had also been lovers. Back then, Remy was known by another name, a son of a prosperous New Orleans plantation owner, and a very handsome dandy. But the Antiquary – who was already living at that time thanks to the longevity he had acquired from the poor souls whose lives he had sucked out – desired the young man for both his beauty and his unearthly vitality. He abducted Remy and almost forced himself upon the beautiful youth he lusted after. Rather than suffer ravishment, Remy escaped, only to be run over by the carriage that a rescuing Logan happened to be riding in. Gripped with despair, Logan, for the first time in his very long life, sought the aid of a god – in particular, the vodoun god Baron Samedi – to heal his dying beloved.

"Please do something, anything!" Logan had prayed and begged fervently. "Please let him live!"

The Baron, taking pity on him, swore that he would heal the young man, and he took Remy away from his lover's arms. However, he never mentioned to Logan that the injuries that Remy had sustained then were fatal and that the only way for the Cajun to be able to live again was for him to be remade into a god. A vodoun deity named Ghede Nibo.

And as Ghede Nibo, Remy lost all memory of his life as a mortal, aiding his adoptive parents – Samedi and Maman Brigitte – in their duties as loas of the living and the dead. He was virtually unaware that, on Earth, someone waited patiently for his return.

A loving heart, though, could never forget the love that it had left behind. Prompted by a deep, pervading sense of loss he could not explain, Ghede Nibo, with the blessing of Brigitte, used his gift of resurrection to be reborn as a mortal. Still, he retained the tell-tale characteristic of his godhood – crimson on ebony eyes. Learning of his rebirth, the Antiquary stole the infant from his birth parents and kept him in his special harem known as the Velvet Ministry for close to ten years. What the villain did not count on was for Brigitte – in her mortal guise as the Thieves Guild mambo Tante Mattie Baptiste – to inform Jean-Luc LeBeau about the child's existence. With Logan's aid, they were able to save the hapless boy, but not before nearly losing the child and the X Guild's adviser when the Antiquary's palace collapsed right on top of them.

"I knew it was you the first time I laid my eyes on you, but I kept my silence as you were growing up, all the while praying that, even if you don't remember me, that you would learn to love me again," Logan confessed to his silent lover. "I'm so sorry, Remy. It's my fault that you changed into...this. If I only knew that the Baron intended to turn you into a god..."

"Then you an' I would not be together again."

Logan lifted his startled gaze towards Remy at that soft statement.

"I know dat you've been holdin' dis fear dat I might get mad at ya for makin' Baron Samedi turn me into a loa, mais I'm not, because, back den, I too didn't want to die. I too didn't want to lose you." Remy let out a wry laugh as he handed the flask to Logan, who took a deep swig at it to calm his nerves. "In a way, I am thankful to ya. Rememberin' my ole life, I realized dat I was such an irresponsible and selfish bastard back den. Dat first time we were lovers, you helped change me. Den, Papa Samedi and Maman Brigitte taught me de value of human life. Upon my return to dis plane, it was you an' mon Pere who guided me into livin' a good, decent an' honorable life. I would not be de man I am today if it weren't for dat prayer ya made, an' for dat, I will forever be grateful to ya. Mais..."

There was shy reluctance in that one little word. "But what?" Logan tenderly urged him.

"I...I wish I could turn back into Remy LeBeau. Mais, I don' know how."

"Oh, is that all?" Logan laughed, as he put his arm around the younger man's shoulder. In the distance, he could hear church bells ringing the final seconds of All Hallow's Eve. "I'll always love you no matter what color you are."

"Even if I'm purple?" Remy teased, his full lips slightly parted in a shy invitation to a kiss.

"Even if you're rainbow-colored," Logan murmured as he leaned over to his lover to give him a chaste kiss.

But, as soon as their lips touched lightly, he felt the Cajun recoil, still very much insecure with his present form. Frustration caused Wolverine to exert himself.

"Oh no, bub," Logan growled, his eyes gleaming like burnished gold. "Ya ain't playin' a shrinking violet on me."

Before Remy could protest, strong arms wrapped around him and drew him into a passionate embrace, as a hard, insistent mouth pressed upon his lips. At first, he resisted, struggling in vain to break free from his lover's embrace. The cry of his longing heart was stronger though. He found himself laying the creature on his lap, and flung his arms around Logan's neck, meeting the older man's kiss with equal fervor. Through slitted eyes, Logan observed tiny rosebuds slowly form at the crown of thorns on Remy's brow, opening into bright red and pink blooms. As it did so, to his utter delight, he saw the dark color of the Cajun's skin regaining its healthy pink shade, much like a blossoming flower.

Unknown to the two men, the creature was observing them. Gingerly, it lifted two tentacles, laying them on each man's cheek. At that contact, it began to pulsate with a pink light as it relished and cherished the warm love that exuded from the two lovers – a love that asked for nothing in return, genuine, tender, healing. It was such a wonderful and overwhelming emotion that the creature so wanted to share.

As soon as that thought filled its mind, the creature sent out these feelings with the last ounce of its power and life. Tapping into the healing energies that Remy possessed in his aspect of Ghede Nibo, it healed the Antiquary's victims of the madness that had afflicted them. One by one, those who were driven insane by the wild lust regained their senses, returning to their homes, and begging forgiveness from their wives and lovers, who joyfully did just that and more. But the creature was not content to merely heal. It let everyone within the wide radius of its abilities feel the love that emanated from the two men, causing many to sigh with happiness and some to shed tears of joy.

Even Baron Samedi paused from his task of digging the corpses. He smiled, seeing that the dead have lost their emaciated, twisted forms and have assumed a relaxed posture.

"Love...it's a wonderful thing, ain't it, Maman?" he inquired of his beloved wife.

Maman Brigitte breathed in the sweet night air. "Oui, it most certainly is, Papa."

When the church bells rang one last time, so too did the creature breathe its last, its body and its protective shell shattering into thousands of twinkling pink stars that surrounded the two lovers for a few minutes, before slowly winking out one by one.

Logan, reluctant to end the kiss, carefully drew back to behold his young lover back to his human form. There were tears streaming from Remy's eyes.

"The little guy..." Logan began with sincere regret. "I felt what he did."

Remy nodded, caressing his cloak where the creature had lain. "He wanted to make amends, to make things right again. Poor petit! My only consolation is dat he died happy, dat he had found what he had been searchin' for in de end."

"Why was he so desperate to learn about love? Don't they love...his race, I mean...where he came from?"

"Non, Logan. When de petit touched me, I was able to glimpse what his people were like. Dey lived on negative emotions. His race glutted themselves on anger, hatred and such terrible emotions, only to be overwhelmed and die from de sensory overload. Mais, de petit had one ancestor who visited our world thousands o' years ago. Before he perished, he tol' de little one about an emotion dat overpowered all de negative feelings that it had ever fed on. It was an emotion dat he hoped de petit would experience because it was such a beautiful feeling."

"And that emotion was love. I know. But where could the little guy's ancestor have experienced love?"

At this query, Remy smiled. "De petit's ancestor had been hiding beneath a small hill where executions took place on a regular basis. It was de mount at Golgotha."

Logan stared at his lover for several seconds. Then, he too beamed. "I can't blame the little guy for wanting to experience that – the greatest love of all." He gazed modestly into the Cajun's red on black eyes. "Well, I know for a fact that what we have doesn't compare with that, but..."

"All love is wonderful, no matter how great or small, an' de petit knew dat." Remy leaned forward and kissed the older man tenderly. "Je t'aime, Logan. You will forever hold de key to my heart."

"And to mine," Logan whispered, returning that kiss just as warmly. Lifting his hand, he let his palm caress Remy's smooth back, going down to cup a rounded buttock. "You know what? I understand now why you're so impatient for us to do that...thing. Since we're absolutely certain of how we feel about each other, why don't you and I..."

Logan was about to kiss Remy again, but a fingertip pressed over his lips. "Non, non, non, mon couer. Not tonight I'm afraid."

"Why not?" Logan whined pathetically. There was a hint of Wolverine's impatient gruffness in those two words. "I thought you wanted it desperately."

"Wolvie, mon petit amour. I've been chased by sex-crazed zombies. De Antiquary almost had his wicked way with me. De last thing I have on my mind right now is sex. Besides, we'll be handfast in a few days. I just want to go back home an' have a nice pleasant sleep in my bed."

Saying this, Remy stood up, wrapped the cloak around his naked form, and marched off in the direction of the Thieves Guild. A miserable Logan trudged after him like a love-sick puppy.

"If that's the case, maybe I should cuddle up with you in bed," he meekly suggested.

"Non! Cuddlin' will lead to somethin' else. Go home, Logan."

"You can't do this to me, Gumbo!"

"Just watch me!"

There was a soft sniffle, and Remy turned to see his lover's slumped figure. Sighing in surrender, he said, "All right, we can just cuddle."

Logan brightened at that and ran toward the younger man's side. "I could cuddle ya right now, Gumbo."

Not too far from them, Baron Samedi and Maman Brigitte were listening to their exchange. They could no longer hold back their laughter as Remy let out on an outraged shriek.

** _"Dat ain't cuddlin' no more! Stop pokin' my butt!"_ **

 

 

**THE END.**

 


End file.
